Mad Dog Chronicles 3b: New Arrivals II
by John C. Philpott
Summary: Part 2 of New Arrivals: Dr. Romaneski has arrived, and her position in the Squadron needs to be determined. This can only be settled in the air!


_Chronicles of the Mad Dog Squadron_ By John C. Philpott April 21-22, 107 PA "New Arrivals, part II" 

Natalia Romaneski was making herself about as welcome as a Psi-stalker at a Wizard's Guild meeting. In the span of a mere couple of hours she had snubbed Val and Wanker, insulted Chuckles, treated Joe like a second-class citizen, and broken poor little Mitsie's heart.

It had started simple enough: a text only magitronic mail message from a "doctor" Romaneski to old Albatross (may he rest in peace) in response to an article he had submitted to the _TK Flyer_ periodical. Over the years we had maintained contact with Dr. Romaneski, always text only, swapping ideas on Techno-wizard engine design. Then, out of the blue, we received a message stating that we could expect the good doctor's imminent arrival. 

It was 1400 hours on the 21st and all of the Mad Dogs were lined up awaiting the doctor's arrival while Mitsie Osaka circled above in her new gyroplane. Soon a Yak-9 Techno-wizard war bird touched down on the runway. It was painted in a gray-white camouflage pattern with a bright red star and zigzagging red arrow on the side fuselage. The nose art was a stylized white flower with the name "Lilya" below it. Six kill markings of various targets were painted below it. Soon Dr. Romaneski had killed the engine and opened the hatch, talking briefly with Joe before exiting the plane. 

"Good afternoon, _Herr Doktor," Chuckles had said with a bow._

It was then that the Doctor removed her flight helmet, revealing long blond feminine hair.

"Good afternoon to yourself, _Herr Doktor," she had responded icily. So had begun what had so far proven to be a long afternoon._

Maybe Chuckles' faux pas had set her off from the start, though I rather doubt it. Chuckles had been referring to her as "Herr Doktor" in the m-mails for as long as he had been with the Mad Dogs and had yet to be corrected. Perhaps seeing Mitsie's little gyroplane circling in the distance had been a less than impressive first view of us as professional Techno-wizards. Who the hell knew?

It was Sgt. Joe Jacobsen, the crew chief, who first suffered the wrath of Romaneski. He had opened the hatch to one of the two travel pods hanging from the Yakolev fighter's wings and was staring blankly into the empty pods. "'Scuse me there, doctor," he asked, breaking the icy silence that had developed, "but yew asked me t' unload these here pods, but there ain't nuthin' in 'em!"

Dr. Romaneski's eyes rolled back into her head. She spoke to him like one might to a brain-damaged dog: "Just remove the pods from the wings, _gently_, and place them on a bench in the hanger. _I_ will deal with them. Unload the internal cargo area behind the cockpit, where the fuel tank would normally be. And be careful." She turned to me "I certainly hope the rest of your, ahem, _Mad Dogs_ are better trained, Colonel."

"Doctor," I rebutted, "remember that you came to us with the intent to join, so you might want to try to learn to get along with us. Now, doctor, perhaps we should begin the introductions and tour."

"The introductions can come later, Colonel, I am anxious to see my new laboratory."

Joe interrupted us again from unloading the Yakolev. He had opened the cargo storage, but it too was empty. "Uh, pardon me again doctor, but unless there's another cargo area then this ones empty too."

Dr. Romaneski looked seriously annoyed as she stormed over to the cargo area, mumbling faintly in what must have been Russian. She reached into the lower lip of the cargo area's opening and flipped a switch. Soon what had been blank space became a ton of assorted crates and boxes, far too many to have fit inside the small space. "There," she said, "and take it easy with those crates."

"How in the hell?" Joe pondered, "There weren't no switch in there before, I looked."

"Only I can see it," the doctor rebutted. "The cargo area is a dimensional pocket, as are the cargo pods. An internal switch that only I can access allows or forbids others from accessing the pockets." she turned to me. "Your undereducated friend there was correct in deducing their 'emptiness', as they are, in fact, merely a portal to the dimensional pocket that actually holds the cargo."

"Ingenious!" added Chuckles, "In that way nearly limitless cargo could be carried without adding any weight to the aircraft!"

"Of course, _Mein Herr," she sneered contemptuously. Behind us Mitsie was landing her Gyroplane._

"Please tell me you know how to do that spell, hon.," inquired Val.

"That's _Doctor, madam, not _hon_.," snapped Dr. Romaneski, "and no, I hired the services of a Temporal Wizard to do the auxiliary spell casting."_

"I sure hope you still got his number, love, pardon me, doctor," interrupted Wanker, " Hell, I'll bet you have the ammo magazines done the same way! Think of all the extra firing time a few of those dimensional what's its of yours would give! You did think of that, right love?" Dr. Romaneski turned away, annoyed embarrassment in her cold blue eyes. "Bloody hell, am I the only one to think of such things? And to believe I'm the one that's not the Techno-wizard in this group! Lord, if I had twice the ammo as I have before I could take out half the bloody Coalition air force!"

A clinking of full bottles from one of the offloaded crates caught the attention of all the Mad Dogs in an almost Pavlovian way. "What's this?" asked Mack, walking over and popping open the crate before removing a bottle of clear liquid.

"Vodka," answered Dr. Romaneski, "Triple-distilled potato. I _may_ be inclined to share, if I think any of you heathens would appreciate such a quality product."

"Russian Vodka!" Wanker smiled, "Oh God-in-heaven yes!" He bolted over to the crate and removed a bottle, holding it as though it were made of solid gold. "Oh what I wouldn't give for a crate of dry Vermouth!"

"Ver-_what?" asked Sake._

"Vermou...oh never mind," Wanker sighed, "Another of the great ancient treasures of my world you savages have forgotten." He found another crate, this one filled with small burlap bundles. "Sweet Lord real _Tea_! And this writing: Sanskrit for sure, Indian tea; Darjeeling by the smell. Natalia, my dear, I think I love you!" 

Dr. Romaneski looked annoyed, "Colonel," she scowled, "if your associates are done drooling can we continue the tour?" She was interrupted once again, this time by Mitsie's gyroplane taxiing in from the runway. Joe rushed over to marshal Mitsie in; she parked right beside Dr. Romaneski's Yak-9.

Mitsie nearly jumped out of her gyroplane with joy as she cut the engine. Had she jumped any higher she might have put her head through the still spinning top rotor. "It works, it works!" she cheered, "I did it! Wow, you must be Dr. Romaneski!" she said, turning to the doctor, "Hey, a fellow female flyer!" She rested her hand on the doctor's shoulder, continuing, "Guess we can show these boys who's boss, huh? Want to see my new aircraft? I'm thinking of calling it the _Dragonfly_." she stuck her tongue out at her older brother Sake.

With visible reluctance Dr. Romaneski walked over to Mitsie's gyroplane. Mitsie beamed as Dr. Romaneski thoroughly looked over the gyroplane. "Well," asked Mitsie when the doctor seemed finished, "Whad'ya think?" 

The doctor simply turned around and walked back up to me, saying, "Now if we are through with the petty interruptions can we please get on with the tour? I'm tired after my journey and don't have time for any more distractions." Earlier in the day Sake, Mack, and even myself had teased Mitsie about her gyroplane. She had regularly stormed off in a huff, but had merely been more determined to show us up with no real emotional insult taken. The look she had on her face as Dr. Romaneski walked away was one of deepest heartfelt pain. A slight tear swelled in her eye and Sake ran to comfort her. If the Mad Dogs had been annoyed with Dr. Romaneski before they now eyed her with a cold contempt. Although none of the Mad Dogs had taken Mitsie's efforts at Techno-wizardry too seriously all considered her part of the family; and you don't mess with family.

The doctor's tour was conducted in cold silence. Most of the Mad Dogs had since gone about their way, unwilling to spend any more time with the doctor. Only Chuckles and I remained, and the doctor was flatly ignoring most of what Chuckles had to say to her. Dr. Romaneski, in keeping with her earlier behavior, had nothing nice to say about anything: the quarters were cramped, the labs inadequate, and the staff under par. I, however, took the liberty of using my telepathy to read her surface thoughts, and found them to be in reality rather reluctantly impressed. Perhaps expressing anything but contempt about anything might, in her mind, betray a softer side; this could be the angle I needed to break through the layer of ice surrounding her.

As the tour reached the weapons and equipment lab we found Val Mancini hard at work on a new project. It looked like a simple hand-held oxygen tank and mask, but the tingle of magic betrayed otherwise. "What's cookin', gorgeous?" I asked.

"That bad reaction to Joe's 'corn squeezin's' gave me an idea," she replied, "I modified this mask with a toxin removal spell. One good whiff from the tank should clear you out of any poisons or toxins, corn-related or otherwise. In fact, if you can get a hold of a restoration spell to add to this I think I may have found the ultimate field medical kit! Here," she continued, handing the thing to me, "take a hit."

"Out of guinea pigs, huh?" I teased. I took a breath from the mask and a cool burst of mint filled my lungs. Immediately I felt better, like a million credits. "Damn, Val, you hit the jackpot on this one!"

"Thanks," she replied, "The mint is added for aroma therapy, though other flavors can be substituted. Dr. Romaneski?" she asked handing it towards the doctor.

"No, thank you," the doctor sneered, "I don't use untested products."

"Suit yourself, doc.," she replied, and turned to me. "If we get that restoration spell I might be able to rig up a healing setting to the aircraft oxygen masks as well."

"Quaint," added Dr. Romaneski, "Colonel, have your crew move the travel pods into the lab in the back room for me. I will be going to my quarters for a while."

"Very well, doctor," I replied, "If you need me I'll be in our secondary briefing room. We'll be voting on whether to initiate Jabo and Gooney, two of our Mad Dogs to be, and welcome your input."

"I believe you forgot to show me this 'secondary' briefing room, Colonel."

"He means the bar, hon.," added Val, "I'll be in shortly, Lance. I'm going to finish up in here first."

"Fair enough," I answered, and turned for the Flight Deck. As I left the remove toxin magic of Val's mask was revealing an unwanted side effect: it had cleaned the nicotine from my system and I needed a cancer stick. On the way there I ran into Sake. "Hey Sake," I asked, "How's Mitsie doing?"

"Pretty torn up, Lance," Sake answered, "Which is what I'd like to talk to you about. Me an' the guys have had it up to here with that Romaneski chick and want her gone."

"I'm afraid that's not an option, Sake," I answered, "Sure she's a royal pain, but so are the rest of us, in one way or another. She'll come around I'm sure. Besides, think of how much of a help she'll be on the R&D side of the business."

"I guess so, Lance," he replied, "but I don't like it. By the way, speaking of Mitsie I think she should get a chance at becoming a Mad Dog. Sure she's young, but she's got heart and ability."

"Soon enough, Sake, soon enough. Give her a few more months and I'm sure she'll be ready." 

We made our way to the Flight Deck where the Mad Dogs already had the video screen and projector set up. Someone had spliced a bunch of the Mad Dog's old gun camera footage together into a continuous video complete with a hard rocking soundtrack. "Here I go, here I go!" yelled Sugar as the scene changed to one of Behrens' FW-190's trying unsuccessfully to bank out of the Tuskegee Queen's gun sights. The assembled Dogs cheered as the left wing of the 190 took several hits and tore off at the root, leaving the 190 to spiral to the ground.

"A-ten-HUT!" called Sake, "Colonel on the deck!"

"Oh, shut up, Sake," called Jazz with a laugh, "Were trying to watch a film here. Oh, look! Here's where I take out that abolisher with the Baby's howitzer! Boo-ya!" A full pint of Hermann's best was already sliding down the bar to me when I stepped up. I gave a quick salute to Hermann and took a seat at the table as the last scenes of the video finished up. The credits revealed Voodoo to be the culprit.

"Alright, children, play time's over," I said as the lights came back on. "Soon we're going to look over the tapes of Jabo and Gooney and decide if they get admitted into the Mad Dog Squadron or not. Remember, as we are all part of the squadron we all get a veto. One blackball and the candidate is out. We start as soon as Dr. Romaneski arrives. She's not yet a Mad Dog and therefore doesn't get a vote, but since she's going to be we should get her input as well."

"Like hell she's becoming a Mad Dog," yelled Mack, "I'm balling her right now!" Three or four others yelled their approval.

"We voted before she arrived that she was in based on the caliber of her research."

"Well, I'm taking my vote back," called Jazz, "You saw how she treated Joe, Wanker, and Mitsie!"

"It doesn't bother me, mate," added Wanker, "But I'd like to know how well she flies before going into combat with her. Just because she can make a plane doesn't mean she can fight in it!"

"She does have six kills," interjected Spike, my dog-boy bombardier.

"So her plane says," sneered Sake. "Hell, give me a paint brush and thirty minutes in the hanger and I'll make myself a triple ace!"

"Besides," added Mack, putting his hands behind his head, "everyone knows broads can't fly. Hell, who but a broad would name their plane after a flower? _Lilya!" He mocked in a falsetto voice batting his eye lashes, "I'll bet a thousands credits it means lily to go with that white flower she painted on it."_

"It does," said Dr. Romaneski, who stood in the doorway, a stern look on her face. "But it's not named after the flower, it's named after a great air warrior."

"A warrior named Lily?" laughed Jerky, "how cute!"

"Oh, of course!" said Wanker, "Lilya Litvok, the 'White Rose of Stalingrad' as the Jerrys called her! She flew with the _Rodina _and_ was a triple ace on the eastern front with seventeen kills. Unfortunately she got shot down and killed before I got a chance to meet her."_

"And how would you have gotten to meet her?" the doctor said, contemptuously, "Do you seem to think you actually lived during the 'Great Patriotic War'? I knew your pilots were ill-mannered and under-trained, Colonel, but delusional?"

"Actually, doctor," added Chuckles, "He did live during the Second World War and was a quadruple ace himself with the British Royal Air Force. He was brought here to our time by a temporal rift at the Stonehenge nexus during the Nagasaki bombing."

"Very well, then," she scowled, "a quadruple ace and contemporary of Litvok's. How ironic, a R.A.F. time traveler being defended by a Nazi." 

_So that's what this is all about! I though._

"Fraulein doctor," Chuckles scowled, "I am a German, yes, but I am _not a damned Nazi!"_

"Then why do you dress like one and paint your aircraft like one?" she rebutted.

"I build the aircraft because they are excellent airframes and wear an altered version of the uniform for historical reasons, but I do not wear or fly the swastika and have never supported tyranny or bigotry of any kind," growled Chuckles. "And frankly, doctor, considering that you fly the aircraft and wear the uniform of Stalinist Russia I would be careful of what kinds of accusations you make based on appearances. Stalin's Gulags were as evil and barbaric as Hitler's concentration camps, if not worse. Even the Holocaust's nine million victims pale in comparison to Stalin's twenty to forty million victims!"

"I wish only to honor those who fought against the Nazi war machine, not honor that bastard Stalin or his Bolsheviks. Besides," she said, folding her arms, "we Russians didn't start the war."

"Oh bugger and blast!" interrupted Wanker, "I know you Jerrys and Ivans get along like cats and dogs, but do we have to re-fight the bloody war right here? Listen, love," he continued, "I was there. I fought against the damned Nazis and saw for myself the brutality of their rule. Only later did I realize that in defeating one genocidal bastard, old Adolph, we had managed to help a second genocidal bastard, old Joe Stalin, expand his empire. Hell, we used to call him "Uncle Joe" and sent him money and equipment! That's something I have to bloody well live with." Wanker went on, "I lost several friends and relatives during the Blitz (that's the bombing of London by the Luftwaffe, love) and later cheered like everyone else in the U.K. when our Lancaster bombers gave it right back to the bludgers. Then after the war in Europe had ended I viewed first hand the carnage we the 'good guys' had visited upon Germany. I saw with my own eyes the horrors of Dresden and Hamburg as well as those of Auschwitz and Buchenwald. Later I would hear of the fire bombings on Japan, culminating with the damned atomic bombings that brought me here." Wanker looked blankly into space a moment before continuing, "Folke Wulf-190s and Stukas aided Hitler's holocaust while Yakolevs aided Stalin's. Spitfires, Mustangs, and Lightnings aided the holocaust dished out by B-17s, B-25s, and B-29s, not to mention Britain's own Lancs. Zeroes, meanwhile, aided Japanese atrocities in China, like the 'Rape of Nanking', for example. Every bloody aircraft that any one of us bludgers in this room serves on or flies has got blood on its hands, as do each of us. If you ask me Mitsie, with her unarmed gyroplane, is the only damned one of us with a clean slate." The room was silent as Wanker re-lit his pipe before continuing, "Were it not for the thousands of small acts of compassion, mercy, and heroics I witnessed by individuals…on all sides, mind you, I would have damned well given up on humanity years ago."

The whole room was silent for what seemed like minutes, but was probably less than fifteen seconds. Finally Dr. Romaneski reluctantly broke the silence, "I apologize for my accusations, they were unfounded. I have been fighting a losing battle to save my home for months now and perhaps have forgotten my own humanity. Continue with the pilot review, I will be getting myself a drink." With that she casually walked up to the bar where Hermann gave her a dram of her Vodka.

The footage of Jabo and Gooney's trial mission did quite a bit to liven-up the Mad Dog's spirits. All cheered as Jabo's tracers raked across a truck causing it to explode brilliantly, perhaps forgetting or ignoring the fact that humans inside where dying with their vehicle. When the footage was done we were debriefed by Chuckles, who had a first-hand view of the fighting. In the end all the Mad Dogs were unanimous in their support of both Jabo and Gooney's initiation as the newest Mad Dogs. Only Dr. Romaneski voiced serious objections. "They are pig-headed and foolish. They endanger themselves and anyone flying with them with their antics. If I had a vote I would vote them down now."

"Well, you don't, sweetheart," sneered Mack.

"She's got a good point, Mack," added Wanker, "However, love," he continued, turning to the doctor, "I've commanded many a young, aggressive combat pilot and have seen kids like them a million times. We'll straighten 'em out, don't you worry."

"I hope so, Captain," she replied, "For all of our sakes."

"I guess the only question left for tonight is where Dr. Romaneski fits into the Squadron," added Sugar.

"Easy," replied Sake, "Behind Jabo."

"I am a veteran combat pilot and professional Techno-Wizard," scowled the doctor, "I belong in a command position. At least as high as Colonel Jaeger!"

"Like hell!" yelled Mack, "I have seniority over this broad! Besides, how do we know you're a veteran, or even any good as a pilot?"

"Perhaps you would like to test my prowess in the cockpit, Lt. Colonel?" she challenged

"I'd down your ass in five seconds!" Mack replied, smiling evilly.

"That's it!" I yelled, causing all to look to me, "We'll settle the whole damn thing in the air, as pilots! Chuckles, do we still have the combat simulation software for the aircraft and the tower?"

"Of course," he replied, "I was using it last month to train Jabo."

"Good. Then starting tomorrow we set up our aircraft for simulated combat."

"So who goes first?" asked Sake.

"And what about us bomber pilots?" asked Bear, "You expect me to dogfight a Yak-9 with my B-29?"

"You can borrow a fighter from someone else," I replied. "As for the order of combat, that is a little more difficult. Having to fight all of us in a row when all of us are fresh and she's fatigued is unfair to Dr. Romaneski while starting from the top down is unfair to the Mad Dogs. Random selection is unfair to all and frankly too confusing. Any suggestions?"

"Don't worry about it, Colonel," the doctor replied, taking a sip from her Vodka, "I can take all of you, fatigued or not. I can start from the bottom and defeat the lot of you one at a time."

"Cocky, isn't she?" asked Sake.

"Just like a Mad Dog," I replied, continuing, "Then tomorrow morning starting at eleven we begin."

"Excellent, Colonel," answered the doctor. "So what exactly is it you Mad Dogs do?" asked the doctor. "I noticed that the scope of the operation seems a little too large to simply be a Techno-wizard research area."

"Indeed it is, doctor," replied Chuckles, "In addition to research we support Tolkeen in its battles against a mutual enemy, the Coalition States who are indeed true Nazis: their Emperor Prosek is a fan of Hitler."

"Yes, you have mentioned this Coalition as a threat to the mystically inclined," she responded, "so you are allies of this Tolkeen? I seem to remember being warned to avoid them on my trip here."

"Not exactly allies," Chuckles replied, "Although we do mutually oppose the expansion of the Coalition Empire."

"Yea," replied Jerky, "Those Tolkeen S.O.B.s aren't exactly friends of ours. They're almost as bad as the Coalies. Tolkeen just makes a good staging area for our business enterprises in the Coalition."

Dr. Romaneski looked appalled, "You do business with the enemy? A group whom you have compared to the Nazis?"

"Our business isn't exactly sanctioned by the Coalition," grinned Sake, "We sell books, magical components, and other contraband and support insurgent groups."

"So the great Mad Dog Corporation is nothing more than a group of common smugglers," she grimaced.

"Ain't nothing common about us, babe," added Jazz.

"We prefer the term _Alternative Businessmen," laughed Sake. I rolled my eyes into my head, wishing they'd shut up before they made matters worse._

"What about this 'other contraband' you mentioned," she frowned,  "Drugs, weapons, cybernetics?"

"Drugs, never," I replied, "and weapons only to groups we know to be on the level. As for cybernetics we certainly are not involved in cyber snatching if that is what you are implying. A vast majority of our business is legitimate trade, since our mobility allows us to travel freely and the exoticness of some items, such as from Europe or Mexico, offers high profits. As to the underground work we only do that when the benefit is to the common people, such as spreading literacy and uncensored news to the oppressed citizens of the Coalition and spreading vampire combating supplies like stakes an holy water to the humans fighting the vampire kingdoms in Mexico. The fall of Tolkeen would make such trade more difficult and would upset the balance of power in the region. Besides, Tolkeen just happens to be the lesser of two evils in this war, so we support them."

Wanker sighed loudly, saying, "Supporting Stalin to stop Hitler," and took a long drag from his beer.

_- April 22nd, 106 PA; 1100 hrs. -_

The big day had arrived, time to determine whom the top dog was, and where the esteemed Dr. Natalia Romaneski fit into the Mad Dog Squadron's chain of command. It was a perfect day for flying, cool, sunny, and still. The fighters had been prepared for simulated combat: simulated illusionary tracers, simulated damage indicators, simulated ammo levels; all patched directly through the tower's computers. First up for the Mad Dogs (blue team) was the junior pilot of the squadron, Jazz, who had borrowed Mack's P-38 _Split-tail Sally_. He and Dr. Romaneski (red team) soon had completed preflight checks and taken off, flying to their respective "corners" in the designated combat zone. 

The rest of the mad dogs were assembled around makeshift tables on the flightline drinking morning coffee or tea and listening intently to the portable radio in the center tuned to the tower frequency for the blow-by-blow. "_Tower to all combatants_," screamed the radio, "_Simulated combat to begin in T-minus 3…2…1…Initiate." And they were off, diving towards each other. Dr. Romaneski flew aggressively confident in her Yak-9 while Jazz seemed to struggle with the unfamiliar airframe. He barely dodged out of the way as the doctor zoomed past on an attack run. The assembled Mad Dogs laughed and jeered Jazz. _

From the corner of my eye I saw Mitsie and Val once again pushing Mitsie's little gyroplane from the hanger. This time it displayed nose art: a dragonfly in a pilot's helmet and bright red lipstick holding a machine gun and the name Mitsie's Dragonfly written proudly above it, mocking the derogatory name Sake had given it the day before. I walked over to them. "How's it going, girls?" I asked.

"Final test flight underway this morning." answered Val, "So how about giving the girl a chance at membership?" She was putting me on the spot and she knew it.

"Please, sir?" asked Mitsie, "I've proven my ability in Techno-wizardry and have a working aircraft."

I smiled and replied, "You certainly do, Mits, but I'm afraid it takes more than just a working aircraft to join the ranks of the pilots. The gyroplane is a nice start, but it's too light to carry out any combat duties, which, I'm afraid, is a prerequisite for membership in the squadron. You need to either build an aircraft capable of combat, or else join Val in R&D. I'm sure she'd love to have your assistance." Val nodded.

"That would be nice, sir," Mitsie replied, "but I'm a pilot, not a researcher. Besides, The Dragonfly can do plenty for the Squadron."

"But she won't hold any sufficient weaponry for fighting or bombing," I rebutted.

"How about reconnaissance?" she responded, "or rescue? "

"Sorry, love," I replied, turning back, "but we already can do those things with what we have."

"Not as well as a slow mover like mine could!" she screamed after me, "Damn it, what if I don't want to have to kill anybody? I can still perform my duties to the squadron without killing!" She just didn't understand combat. By the time I got back to my coffee the fight was just about over. After playing an insufficient game of panicked cat and mouse Jazz was trying to avoid another assault by banking away in a long, wide bank, as you would do with a bomber to allow your gunners good firing arcs. Unfortunately, the P-38 had no gunners.

Dr. Romaneski's Yak _Lilya dived on him from above like a hawk, simulated guns blazing. "_Heavy gun and cannon damage to the right wing root_," squawked the tower through the radio speakers, "_Wing severed, confirmed kill for red team_." The Mad Dogs groaned and tossed things down as the two planes circled for landing and taxied up to their spots. Jazz got out cursing himself and the doctor._

"You fly like a bomber pilot," the doctor said contemptuously to Jazz. "Who's next?" she asked.

"That's me, babe," laughed Sake, "You're goin' down!" 

Soon three aircraft were in the air: Sake's Zero, Romaneski's Yak, and Mitsie's Dragonfly, of which the latter flew around the base in the distance on its final check flight. Meanwhile the two combatants squared off in the sky and at the tower's signal flew towards each other. With her special superchargers Dr. Romaneski had the performance advantage, but faced a serious opponent in Sake's super-maneuverable Zero. Sake looped around her easily as she dove towards him and rolled easily on her tail, guns blazing. "_Machine gun hits to red team rear fuselage, minor damage_," called the tower. Sake yelled in triumph as the doctor rolled over on her back and dived steeply in a split-S, leaving the lighter Zero in her wake. Climbing for height both squared off again. Again Sake easily dodged away, but the doctor had expected his attempts to pull in on her six and dove away.

"Come on, coward!" Sake yelled.

"Care to face me?" she replied, coldly. 

With a yell Sake flew directly towards the doctor, who turned to face him in a head on run. Mack sighed and Wanker slapped his hand over his face; against an better-armed and armored fighter such a head-on run was suicide. Sure enough, the tower soon broke in with "_Minor engine damage to red team, major damage to blue team engine and direct cannon strikes to blue team cockpit.92% probability of blue team fatality: confirmed kill for red_." 

"Next?" the doctor asked again after landing.

"Don't worry," said Sugar, cockily, "I got her."  His Mustang presented entirely new problems for the doctor's Yak. It was better armed, more maneuverable, and had excellent performance, though the Yak's special supercharger still held a decisive advantage. Soon they were squared off and the game had begun. Rather than go head to head the doctor climbed for height above Sugar. He climbed to meet her, but her performance got her there sooner, so he dove shallowly, hoping to pull her into a trap. Sure enough she dove on him and he cut the throttle and pulled up into a barrel roll to force an overshoot: the oldest trick in the book, but one that still worked. She wasn't fooled, however, and put a good burst into him before breaking off. The tower called in minor fuselage damage. She turned for another run, but Sugar smartly banked into her assault, putting a short burst into her for minor damage. However, she barrel-rolled to avoid most of the tracers before lining up for a head on run close enough to likely see the color of Sugar's eyes. This incredibly aggressive move came totally unexpected and caused Sugar to make a fatal hesitation. A long burst into his engine as he banked to dodge (having lost this round of "chicken") and the tower called in Dr. Romaneski's third kill in as many dogfights. What Sugar had to say over the radio would make a Juicer blush.

"Next?" she asked again when she got back. That would be Bear.

"Honey," he said casually, "after seein' what you went and did to ol' Sugar there I'll pass. An old bomber guy like myself just ain't gonna take ya'."

"Very well," she said, and walked up to Wanker, who was sipping from his tea. "You ready?" she asked.

"Have a seat, love," he replied, gesturing to an ammo can, "I'll be ready after this cuppa."

"Are you afraid too?" she asked. "Hurry up, I'm anxious to get on with it."

"Frankly, dear," he replied, "After watching you fly I could take you in three passes. However, since I'm in the middle of tea I'll take a rain check. If you are so anxious to fight go ahead and take on Mack. If you can beat him I'll gladly accept your leadership."

"Another coward," she stated, "Well?" she asked Mack, "You ready?"

"Anytime, baby," he said with a leer, "You're good, but seeing as how broads can't fly, this should be over quickly enough."

"_Broads have better hand-to-eye coordination, reflexes, decision making ability under pressure, and G-force tolerance than guys," she sneered. And I am better than most, as your friends have found out. This should indeed be over quickly as you said, but in my favor."_

Soon they too were off. The doctor had faced Mack's P-38 before with Jazz, but not Mack. She had the maneuverability this time, but not the performance or armament. Even her patented supercharger was no match for twin Magic Allison engines. She dove towards him confidently and he matched her. She noticed quickly that he wasn't about to break off first, so she broke off to the side, enticing him to attempt to follow her into a maneuvering conflict favoring the Yak. Instead he climbed for height. She climbed as well, and he took the opportunity to attack, scoring minor damage to the left wing before she rolled out of the way and over, getting in a short burst herself as he climbed away. Again she went to climb and again he attacked, but she was ready and rolled onto his six before he climbed away. Both had fired short bursts to no effect. This time she flew under him and he dove aggressively onto her, scoring a couple of minor hits before she rolled onto her back and dove away. The P-38's big stabilizer between the tail booms created too much vibration as he dove after her to score any repeated success. She took advantage of his diving difficulty to gain much-needed altitude. As he climbed to meet her she dove around in a wide corkscrew to get on his tail, but he simply altered direction, dodging her assault. 

Such cat-and-mouse fighting continued for near twenty minutes without any more than minor strikes by both, until the doctor dove away at full speed trying her best to avoid contact with Mack. He sensed trouble and moved in with a short burst that should have been longer based on his position on her tail, and banked off. The two were cautiously circling each other in the air when the tower called in "_Red and blue teams both out of ammunition. Blue team scored 4-5% more hits, while red team scored 3-6% more damage. Match declared a draw."  Since ties went to the defending Mad Dog in terms of Dr. Romaneski's rank, it meant that Mack kept his position and the doctor would have to face off with Wanker._

"Well?" she asked him again, obviously more than a little peeved about not beating Mack.

"Let's go, love," he replied nonchalantly, stepping towards his Spitfire, _Royal Bender. As they taxied out and took off I looked up at the sky, watching Mitsie's Dragonfly diving and climbing in the distance. I had to admit it did make a pretty machine, if not all that feasible as a fighter. I turned my attention back to the fight as the two fighter aircraft squared off above. With the tower's countdown they left their holding patterns and dashed towards each other. As before Dr. Romaneski flew aggressively towards her foe. Wanker, however, just flew on straight and level._

"What the hell is he doing?" asked Sake, "Giving up?"

"He knows what he's doing," I replied. Sure enough as the doctor dove in towards him he simply broke off in a hard left bank at the exact right second to dodge all fire but still force her to have to break off engagement. As she broke off and started to climb he flipped around in an aggressive spiraling climb towards her, just at the right time and level to force her to bank into a dive, causing her to lose her height advantage and giving him ample opportunity to climb above her. He climbed patiently in a long weaving spiral, not bleeding too much speed and staying in a position above her such that she couldn't attempt to climb without opening herself to an attack.

"Brilliant!" said Jazz, awed, "He's got her boxed in pretty as you please!" Finally, she made a quick break to the right and attempted to climb. Wanker made as if to dive: a feint. It didn't fool her and she simply altered course and banked towards him. It was an excellent move: if he dove now it would be a head-to-head run. Rather than gamble against the Yak's 37 mm cannon (firing through the engine hub) he flipped the nimble Spitfire on its back and performed a loop under, possibly hoping to line up for a belly shot as she flew over. She didn't buy it and instead dove at full speed past him. He followed in a shallow dive at full throttle, keeping himself above her to nullify her performance advantage. Seeing what he was up to she began to bank away, giving herself room to climb. He climbed too, shallowly again, and was able to exploit his altitude advantage to nullify her performance advantage. Now, no matter how she banked he was in a position to make an attack run! The next pass would decide where she ranked in the squadron: above or below Wanker. 

Suddenly she made her move, inverting into a split-S she dove at full throttle in a last effort to lose him. He had expected that, however, and dove with her. As she tried to level out for a climb he descended upon her. He was lining up for a burst into her tail when she cut the throttle and attempted to force the overshoot. It was executed perfectly and nearly succeeded, leaving Wanker in about her 4 o'clock position. As she banked to break off the engagement he hit full left rudder, putting the Spitfire into a hard left-sided skid on the verge of a flat spin. It was a difficult deflection shot, but not too difficult for Wanker. He fired his first and only burst of the match. "_Major damage to red team_," the tower called, "_Red team's tail section shot out, confirmed kill for blue team_." The Mad Dogs cheered loudly with their first and only true victory over the skilled Dr. Romaneski. In the end even she was no match for Wanker's fighting experience.

The doctor was furious and silent when they taxied up. Wanker approached her and she reluctantly took his offered handshake. "Well, love," he said, "You are quite an opponent. It took me a whole four passes before I had you instead of the hypothesized three, and almost took a fifth!"

Less than amused she stormed up to me. "Where is the German?" she demanded, I fight him next."

"Actually, dear, the contest is over. Your position is now set in the squadron as Mad Dog Five," I replied. "Let's head in and call it a day. You are indeed a damned fine pilot as well as a damned fine Techno-wizard and I'll be honored to fly with you."

"I don't care about rank," she said, "I just want to take you all on; to see who the best truly is. Since he is the last fighter pilot I face him now."

She certainly had spunk, but I wondered if her ego wasn't writing checks that her ass couldn't cash. "Chuckles returned to the lab after you tied Mack," I said, "since he no longer was required to face you." She mumbled coward as I continued. "Frankly, my dear, he'd be more than a match for you and knows it." She seemed unconvinced. "How about if you take me on instead?" I challenged. It was time to teach her a lesson in humility for certain. What she said next confirmed this:

"Another bomber pilot!" she sneered, "I've already trounced one and had another back out. Why waste my time taking another out if it won't let me advance to face a fighter pilot?"

She really needed the lesson. "Try me, my dear," I replied, "You might be surprised." 

"Very well, Colonel," she sneered, accepting the challenge. I scanned the sky to estimate the time until sunset and found there was plenty to spare. While looking it seemed as though something were missing, but I couldn't think of what. Pushing the thought out of my mind I got the permission from Sugar to borrow his Mustang and began the preflight.

Before long we were airborne and in our respective corners. Then, after a short countdown from the tower, we were off! She came on with her typical aggression, though with less determination as before. As though she'd already written me off as an easy mark. It was still quite aggressive, however, and I barely dodged out of the way, climbing to the edge of a stall. Soon I was spiraling towards the ground. "Rookie mistakes," she sneered, looping over on to my six as I pulled out of the spiral and attempted to climb. She dove on me quickly and I dodged clumsily out of the way, weaving like an amateur. "Bomber pilots!" she sneered again. For the next three passes I tried equally clumsily to avoid her fire, receiving a couple minor hits in the process.

"Come on, Lance!" screamed Sake over the radio, "What the hell are you doing?"  He was right. It was time to end this charade. As she dove in on me again I weaved clumsily again as if trying badly to dodge. She screamed in on me guns blazing.

"Give up, Colonel," she called, "It's over."

"Not quite, gorgeous," I replied, and chopped the throttle, kicking right rudder and moving the stick left. When done properly the result was a 'slip-out', where the plane moved virtually sideways. I did it perfectly and she flew right on past. Soon I was on her six. The tower recorded minor damage as I put a burst into her. She dipped to dive, but anticipating this I dove with her. While her performance gave her the initial edge the Mustang's laminar-flow wings allowed minimum compressibility. In other words she reached maximum diving speed long before I did and I stuck with her to the deck. She tried to climb but, anticipating this, I put a burst over her canopy and dissuaded her from that course of action. Instead she tried to bank left into a chandelle climb, but once again I forced her to keep low. Finally, running out of options and finding it impossible to shake me off she tried to force the climb. A long burst to the right wing root resulted in a 'severed wing' and a confirmed kill.

It was a while before she spoke again on the radio. "You were purposely toying with me," she said. "You were more experienced a pilot than you let on at first, playing with me before making your kill."

"Call it a lesson in humility," I replied, "You are an excellent pilot, as I have said, but you lack patience and have a tendency to overestimate your own skill while underestimating others'. You also get frustrated easily when things aren't going as planned. Don't get me wrong, you're aggressive and cool under fire. You just need a little more experience in the saddle, so to speak, and I have a feeling need to learn to work better with a team, As you have obviously had to rely only on yourself before." She remained silent. "Well, doc., or should I say Major Romaneski of the Mad Dog Squadron," I continued, "What do you say to a drink? Give me a shot of that vodka and I'll give you some of that 'Scotch' whiskey we bring in from the old British Isles in return."

She thought that over for a while, brooding, before replying "Very well, Colonel, you drive a hard bargain." 

We were banking in for final approach when the tower suddenly cut in, "_Lt. Osaka_," the headset screamed, "_Clear the runway immediately! You are not cleared for take off!_"

"Damn it, tower," he replied, "it's my _Sister_!"

Major Romaneski and myself split up quickly as Sake's Zero took off at full throttle from the runway below. "And I lack patience?" she asked.

"What the hell is going on," I demanded.

"It's Mitsie," Mack replied, "She left a note that she's flying the gyroplane to the front to prove her value in combat. As soon as Sake found out he freaked. She won't answer the radio and he's going out looking for her." I cursed to myself silently. _That's what was missing from the sky, Mitsie's gyroplane!_

"Squadron, this is Mad Dog One," I said into the radio, "Chuckles. You, Wanker, and Mack fly combat patrol with an increasing search radius. Sake, if you can hear me cool down and fly a standard sweep in the 270 to 360 quadrant since you're already heading in that direction. Dr. Romaneski and I will take the 180 to 270 quadrant. Report in if you see anything and everyone stay tuned to combat channel A4 and the emergency frequency."

The search continued for the next 45 minutes as we scanned the skies for Mitsie to no avail. Finally, Sake got desperate and broke radio silence, calling for Mitsie repeatedly on all channels: coded and non-coded, magic and mundane. In ten minutes he got a garbled reply:

"Dragonfly to Mad Dogs, Dragonfly to Mad Dogs," came her garbled voice on the emergency frequency, "I am under attack by Tolkeen Techno-wizard aircraft at bearing 197, 85 kilometers, Angels 2." Without a word the doctor and I hit full throttle towards her coordinates. Sake, Chuckles, Wanker, and Mack signaled they'd done the same. From our location Dr. Romaneski and I were the first to reach her. Sure enough there she was, weaving erratically side to side as three FW-190s of the type Behrens used swooped on her again and again. She was doing well avoiding them, but she couldn't hold on forever. 

Knowing our time was limited I gestured to Dr. Romaneski to concentrate on the northernmost one. We had no mini missiles, but we did have a full compliment of ammunition. A quick flip of the arming switch turned off the combat simulation software and armed the real guns. We dove to attack, firing at the last moment and concentrating on the agreed upon 190. The 190's shields gave out quickly under the withering fire of our combined aircraft and quickly exploded into a ball of fire. Now with only two remaining it was one on one, and we had the advantage, being above and behind them. 

I was just lining up to attack the second when warning bells rung in my headset. Lock and launch tones from magically guided mini missiles. "Above you!" screamed Mitsie. It was a trap! 

"Break right, now!" I called to the doctor. At the last second we split up, still taking several hits each as two volleys of minis tore into us from above. My shields gave out and I received some minor scorching from the blast.

A laughing came into the headset. "Goodbye, Andrews!" yelled a familiar voice: Behrens! "Your little girlfriend here gave me just the opportunity I've needed to finish you off. And I wouldn't have even have known she was here if you hadn't gone calling for her!"

 "This is Sake, I'm ten minutes away!"

"Give us five," called Chuckles. I didn't think I'd make it another five. What an idiot I'd been! Lesson #1: always check your six before committing to an attack. Now it would cost me not just my own ass, but the doctor's and little Mitsie's as well. 

Speaking of which: "Mitsie," I called, "Bug out, we'll handle this!" She groaned, but complied, cloaking.

As if by plan the remaining of the two 190s that were harassing Mitsie broke off to engage the doctor and myself as we split up. That made it two to one, with them above and behind us. The two harassers, I noticed, still had minis and were attempting to lock on us. I had to take at least one of them out if we were to stand a chance. "Doctor!" I called, "Bank left towards me!" We switched directions and flew straight at each other. The one behind me had achieved missile lock on me now, but dared not fire until I flew past his allies or he risked hitting them. As the doctor's Yak passed above me I fired a long burst into the harasser following her while she did likewise to mine. We had executed a classic Thach Weave. Blessed silence returned temporarily to the headset as the harasser weaved to avoid further damage. All four 190s were soon right back on us. As if by mutual agreement the doctor and I banked around for another pass. I hoped we'd make it to the pass.

"If you get me killed, Colonel, you are a dead man!" Dr. Romaneski called.

"The one in the Mustang must be Andrews," Behrens called, "That damned plane normally belongs to his former partner's apprentice and he's not here. Just some woman with a strange accent, but kill her too." The three other pilots responded to the affirmative. He'd somehow tapped into our combat frequency codes! I had to find out how, if I survived. But why was I picking up his transmissions? As the doctor and I weaved back and forth parallel to each other, trying both to pass each other again for another shot and avoid getting shot ourselves, Behrens called over the radio again. "Matheson, switch with me," he called, "I want Andrews." Two of the 190s soon broke off from behind the doctor and I and moved to switch places. That meant the one flying towards me was Behrens. Behind me the harasser was banking sharply outwards, widening his firing arc. I didn't have enough time to set up a pass with the doctor before he got into a firing position I couldn't get out of. He was an experienced pilot and he had me…unless I could figure out a way to keep him from firing, and quick. 

Then I remembered Behrens banking over towards my tail and got an idea. I banked sharply towards Behrens in a head on run, firing a long burst at him. As always he showed a keen interest in self-preservation and broke off quickly. I hoped that interest continued to outweigh his desire for vengeance. With a quick flick of the wrist I pulled up into an Immelmann turn, changing direction and diving steeply onto Behrens' six. Meanwhile the harasser pulled onto my six and locked on. I had less than a second to act. I dove quickly at full throttle onto Behrens, firing all the way. His shields gave out as I bore down on him. He performed a hard left bank to dodge my fire. That's when I made my move. I dove on his tail quickly, holding my fire, and did the last thing he expected: I formed up with him, tightly.

"_What in the hell are you doing?" he demanded._

"Your goon behind me has missile lock," I replied, "Why doesn't he fire?"

"You maniac, you'll kill both of us!" he shrieked, "Hold your fire!" he ordered the harasser."

"Oh well," I said, "Such is life."

"Damn it, Andrews!" he yelled, panic in his voice, "Get off of me!" He tried desperately to shake me from his tail, but I stayed with him through climb, dive, and hard bank. Never once did the harasser get the opportunity to fire on me without endangering Behrens. 

To my right Dr. Romaneski was having problems of her own. Two fighters, one a missile-armed harasser, were glued to her tail. Amy attempt at breaking off to engage either would open herself up to a missile strike that her Yak couldn't survive. To make matters worse she didn't yet have a teleportation ejection system installed; if she was hit, she was through! While I stuck to Behrens like a pit bull to a pant leg she was doing some of the best avoidance flying I'd seen. I'm sure Joe would be repairing some major over-G damage by the way she pulled into some of those tight turns: ones that would have forced the two 190s to hit each other if they had tried to follow. The occasional flash of their shield revealed just such collisions. "Colonel!" called the doctor, "think you could persuade your friend there to do an imitation of Lt. Armstrong's encounter with me earlier?"

"The one where Jazz tried to set up for his gunners? I sure can," I replied, "Think you could break off?"

"I'm trying."

"Heads up, men!" called Behrens, they're up to something."

"Who, us?" I asked, edging closer in to Behrens' tail from the 5 o'clock position.

"_Back off you lunatic!" he yelled, banking off to the left in a long slow arc to avoid collision. I had him in position, but the doctor was still tied up by the pursuers._

"Hey, doc.," called a young feminine voice, "Dive five degrees port, and fast!" Mitsie! She had doubled back and was flying back towards where the doctor was. As soon as Dr. Romaneski began the dive Mitsie flew head-on right at the 190s on the doctor's tail! "Hi, guys!" she called, "Remember me?" Had they been more alert they could have blasted her with a short burst on the way by. However, they hadn't been and broke off to avoid collision. Mitsie had timed it perfect for surprise: she was a better pilot than I had expected!

This bold move on Mitsie's part gave the doctor the precious seconds she needed to break off. "Good move, Miss Osaka," called the doctor as she flew over towards me. The long arc I was corralling Behrens into had forced my harasser to follow me in a similar arc. Dr. Romaneski pounced on him like a panther, forcing him to break lock from me. I took advantage of the opportunity this gave me by pulling back from Behrens and blowing his tail off. A quick peak into his cockpit as I flew past showed no sign of him inside. They must have somehow duplicated Val's teleportation seats. 

I had no time to waste, however, as the other two 190s flew in to intercept, one just banking around after the breakup from his wingman Mitsie had caused. I flew aggressively towards them, gambling that it was the one without the minis that was facing me. Luckily it was the one without the minis facing me and I received only a glancing hit from his plasma cannons before flying past him and rolling onto the tail of the other 190. Had they been oriented the other way I'd likely have been blown out of the sky by mini missiles. However, I was now on the missile-bearer's six and putting a long burst into him. His shields gave out and he was taking damage when my ammo ran out. I cursed loudly to myself as the other 190 pulled in behind to finish me off. I was really wishing for those dimensional ammo pockets Wanker had suggested.

Suddenly, a double-stream of mini missiles flew into my pursuer, blowing him to pieces. Chuckles and Mack had arrived, just in time! "Nice to see you boys," I said, breaking off from the one I was tailing so the two of them could finish him off. Another explosion marked where they did just that. Sensing his impending doom too late the last 190 cloaked and headed towards home. His invisibility did little to help him when all Mad Dogs wore goggles endowed with See Invisibility magic. Wanker was already descending upon him and sent him flaming to the ground without wasting any missiles. We began to form up to head back towards home. 

"Mitsie," I said over the radio as we formed up, "You'll make a damned fine fighter pilot.

"I know," she said, "but I'd rather stick to something where I don't necessarily have to kill anything."

"Fair enough, Mits," I replied, saluting her as we formed up.

A couple of minutes later Sake arrived. "Ok, guys, I'm here," he called, "Where are the bandits?"

"Gone now," answered Mitsie, "and no thanks to you! Jimmy, you stupid idiot, if you hadn't gone and called for me on the stupid radio they would never have found me!"

"Well, if you hadn't gone off on your own…" Sake rebutted, "and what do you have to show for it?"

"How about a nice picture of one of Behrens' men with a Magus?"

"What?" asked several Mad Dogs.

"Yea!" she boasted.

"How?" asked Mack.

"Simple," she replied, "I was just completing a reconnaissance fly-over of the Coalition trench works out on their Eastern flank when, using my see invisibility goggles, I spotted the invisible signature of something large in a grove of trees. I flew in closer and noticed the indisputable shape of an FW-190. A closer look showed an invisible humanoid walking over to the east. My Dragonfly flies slowly enough and at tight enough circles for me to effectively follow someone on foot, but high enough to remain somewhat hidden. Soon enough a flash of a teleportation appeared and there stood a Magus! The 190 pilot turned visible again and went up to talk to him. Knowing that Magus worked for the Federation of Magic, and knowing Tolkeen to be enemies with the Fed-Mag, I flew in and snapped some pictures as they talked and exchanged some packages. Soon, however, the Magus spotted me, so I fired off a blinding flash and cloud-of-smoke flare and bugged out! Spotting me must have been what prompted Behrens to come to the area. I took a long, winding route across Coalition lines to ensure my escape. I was practically home free when you idiots arrived and tipped them off to my location!" she growled angrily. "I'm just glad that Behrens wants you dead more than he wants his actions with the Fed-Mag covered up!"

"By what you've described there's no way our fast movers would have noticed the cloaked 190, none the less been able to photograph the meeting!" added Chuckles.

 The Dragonfly is only the beginning, too; I have plans drawn up for a small helicopter and larger ones in the initial sketch phase as well! See," she continued, "you don't need big killer machines with guns and bombs to help battle the Coalition. "

"Well bugger me!" yelled Wanker, "She's been into combat and _still _kept her slate clean!"

After a good laugh we all cloaked up and headed for home, with Mitsie in the lead.

It was only 1845 hours and the initiation party was already three hours in. It was another fifteen minutes until the actual pinning ceremony began and I hoped that we would all still be awake and alert by then. We were set to initiate four new members to the squadron: Major Natalia I. Romaneski, Ph.D., pilot; 2nd Lt. Johann B. Jaeger, pilot; Sgt. Heinrich H. Gunterson, gunner/observer…and 2nd Lt. Mitsuko Osaka, pilot! After what Mitsie had done earlier that day the vote to initiate her was unanimous! Not only had she shown bravery in combat and showed a good tactical and strategic mind, but had shown the value of her tiny little gyroplane to the Mad Dog Squadron. The photos she got of the Magus and Behrens' man had indeed proven interesting. Jimmy the Gnome had suspected a Fed-Mag involvement in Behrens' acquisition of the 190s, and now we had proof. I sent the Gnome, Darkness, and some of Joker Company's best into Fed-Mag territory to find the extent of this involvement.

Things at the _Flight Deck had been wild already, and were getting wilder. After the dogfights, and the last mission, Dr. Romaneski had gained the respect of the Mad Dogs and, in turn, had gained respect for the Mad Dogs. Mitsie had everyone's respect after her bravery, skill, and coolness under fire, despite her headstrong nature (so unlike that of the rest of us conformists). Everyone was getting along great, or at least cordially. Natalia (she grudgingly allows us to call her that now) was still pretty standoffish and introverted. She sat by herself at the bar for the most part and the Mad Dogs, emboldened by their consumption, tried one after another to melt through the layer of ice over her, to no avail._

Mack, Sugar, and Jabo had all been shot down in flames and now Sake was up. "Gentlemen," he bragged, "watch how it's done!" He walked up, spoke to her briefly, and returned shivering.

"Score another kill for the Ice Queen!" laughed Mack.

"Tell me about it," Sake replied, "She's Frosty the friggin' Snow-woman!"

"Frosty, huh?" Mack replied with a laugh, "Gentlemen, I think we've found her call sign!" 

We all laughed. "So what about my li'l sis?" asked Sake.

"I figured she'd just be Mitsie," replied Sugar, "Like how Jabo is Jabo."

"I'm thinking 'Gyrohead'," said Sake, "with all those damn gyro-thingies she's building."

"How about just 'Gyro'?" asked Wanker.

"Mitsie's fine," argued Sugar, "Why add to the confusion?"

"But she wants a new one!" added Sake, "Like how I was given the name 'Sake' even though I already had the nickname 'Jimmy' since Shoru jr. is too much of a mouthful."

"Screw it," interjected Mack, "give her both."

Finally it was time for the ceremony. Chuckles stepped up to the podium on the stage and. after the old stupid flowery traditional speech for the new members getting their wings, handed the microphone over to Mack, who announced the new initiates.

"Major Natalia Ilianovich Romaneski," he called. She walked up to the stage where Chuckles pined on her wings, shook her hand, and gave her the certificate. "Pilot of the Yak-9 _Lilya. Henceforth to be known as Mad Dog Five," the assembled members, aircrew or otherwise, leaned in for the important part: the call sign, "Also to be henceforth known…as Frosty!" the crowd went wild. Dr. Romaneski…Frosty…looked annoyed, but not angry about the name. She nodded to the crowd and stepped down._

"Second Lieutenant Johann Boerner Jaeger," Mack called. Jabo stepped up for the pinning and certificate. His father looked ecstatically proud as he pinned his son. "Pilot of the Ju-87 Stuka _Baerenjaeger_. Henceforth known as Mad Dog Ten, and Jabo."

"How about meathead?" someone shouted. 

"Muscles!" cried another. They were ignored: names given in cadet training stuck.

"Second Lieutenant Mitsuko Osaka," Mack continued. She smiled from ear to ear as she got her wings. "Pilot of the gyroplane (of her own design) _Mitsie's Dragonfly_. Henceforth known as Mad Dog Eleven, and Gyro." The crowd seemed split on the call sign decision.

"And finally, Sergeant Heinrich Hermann Gunterson, Gunner/observer of the Ju-87 _Baerenjaeger." Gooney feigned a pained yell as Chuckles pined on his Wings, as though he'd been poked. "Henceforth known as Gooney."_

"That leaves one thing to do," Mack yelled, "New Dogs in the center! Hermann?" The four new dogs gathered in the center of the room as the older Mad Dogs formed a circle around them. Hermann and his staff brought all a shot of our favorite drink.

I raised my glass and gave a simple toast: "To the Old Dogs, to the New Dogs, to the _Mad Dogs! _Cave Canem_, and, most importantly, _Jaeger_!"_

"_Jaeger!"_


End file.
